Sight
by misa1
Summary: A two-part response to the "sight" prompt from the 100 Women table.


I

Her gift. Sally couldn't remember precisely the first time it happened. In those first weeks, everything ran together. The visions were almost constant, as her young brain struggled to discern what was actually before her, from what was an illusion. She saw things that didn't fit. There were random bubbles of strangeness, like reaching for a spoon she would have sworn was right under her hand, only to realize it was still across the kitchen. Puddles of boiling liquid rushing across the stone floor, moments before she stumbled and dropped the old man's soup dinner. Inconsequential and disruptive. She tried to explain her visions to the doctor. For all she'd known at the time, everyone had this problem. He told her to stop talking foolishness, finally speculating that if her brain was prone to such malfunctions, perhaps her head needed to be opened back up for examination. That was the end of the conversation, as it were. She didn't mention her puzzlements to him again.

Once her personal reality settled into a month after month routine, the episodes stretched further apart. The visions became less frequent, but more striking. A thundering clanging in her skull forced her to her knees, clutching her head. The following day, a stray lightening bolt hit the town bell tower, setting the wood ablaze. She watched with astonishment from the kitchen window, as townsfolk struggled to collect fountain water to douse the flames.

Months after that - there was Jack.

He helped her to her feet. It was the first time they'd met, and the first time anyone apart from the doctor had touched her in any capacity. Jack took her hand, gently guiding her up. Her eyes widened. She gasped, pulling in a soft mouthful of air as if she were about to blow out a candle. Her head was instantly so congested with images, she couldn't have spoken a word even if she'd had a mind to do so. A child's flip-book was held aloft, and set into motion before her eyes.

There was Jack. And wind, and fire, and sorrow, and cold... Then, a warmer warmth than anything she could have imagined before. Stars upon stars... So many, they overlapped. More Jack. Hands holding one another, and noses touching while they laughed and pressed their mouths together. The pictures sped, threatening to overflow her sensibilities, pushing aside every other thought she held. Halloween, and Halloween, and Halloween again. Each was bigger than the last. The holiday itself swirled around her. More Jack, and more flickering pictures. Some were quiet and thoughtful. Others made her cheeks burn, and her knees threaten to buckle under her.

Sally stumbled back against a table once Jack had eased her completely to her feet. A small rack of test tubes crashed to the floor, shattering. Sally fidgeted her hands together against her stomach. She blinked in shock, flushed and shaking. It was a struggle to look at Jack at all after everything that had taken flight through her brain. She feared all of it could be seen it in her eyes.

Jack barely noticed. From the outside, her clumsiness appeared no more than a slight spell. Nerves, or exhaustion, or just remnants of her newness. He smiled warmly at her, as the doctor stammered in embarrassment.

"Not at all, Doctor." Jack said, cheerfully dismissing the apologies with a raised hand. "I'm happy to sweep this up. It's clearly my fault, I pulled her up a little too quickly. Sally is perfectly fine, and what a horribly lovely creature she is! You must be delighted with her!"

The doctor groaned, unable to express much more disapproval than that, on the off chance that Jack had indeed inadvertently caused the test tubes to fall. One never wanted to appear that the King himself was a bother.

Alone in her bed that night, Sally closed her eyes tight, holding her head. She tried and tried to coax the vision back. She longed to see it again, just for an instant.

II

Sally sat behind her sewing machine as best she could in her present condition. There was nothing for it. Her stitched belly stretched forward, straining her back if she tried to work the treadle while feeding fabric under the needle. She'd expected as much. That was largely why she'd spent the better part of the month working at home, hand-mending as she could, tabulating numbers from previous Halloweens, and of course, preparing for the baby. Jack was a mess of nerves on that front. He fussed and fretted, imploring her to lie down as much as possible. She did her best, but it was October after all.

Besides, after the events of the previous evening, she wanted to be out in the square this morning. She was not one for schadenfreude, and had the worst happened, clearly there would have been nothing to celebrate. Happily, crisis was averted, leaving only a gleaming "I-Told-You-So" in its wake. She didn't even have to say so herself. Word spread like swamp gas. The sun was barely up, but everyone knew.

The witches had a trip to the human realm planned to hunt for potion ingredients. This was a periodic occurrence throughout the year. Jack left them to it. That was, until the week before the sisters were due to depart. Jack and Sally relaxed in their parlor, reading in silence, when Sally stopped mid-page in her storybook. She'd had enough visions to recognize the approach of one, as well as the futility of trying to fight it off. She gave herself over, as the book resting on her belly slammed shut. It darkened and swelled into a volume entitled "Halloweentown", before opening again, almost painfully. The pages shriveled as if exposed to burning light - then turned to ash in her hands. When the vision cleared, Jack was kneeling at her side, eye sockets wide with concern.

"Tell the witches to postpone their trip, Jack." Sally instructed breathlessly. "They need to wait one week later than planned. Tell them to use a different path than the one they usually take, and then to take a third path home. Don't go the same way twice."

"This is very important, isn't it?" Jack asked gravely. His wife nodded.

Though the witches adored Jack, they appreciated none at all a dictum from his empty-headed child of a wife, presuming to know what was best for them. Postpone their trip for a week? Did the simple girl not know what month it was? They could no more toss away a week of holiday work than they could lose their own heads. The Mayor scowled in panic, observing the closest thing he'd ever seen to an argument between the two ancient hags and The Pumpkin King.

"I have every confidence that you two will do just fine with your deadlines regardless. Nevertheless, I give you my word that you won't be faulted if you're a hair short, given the circumstances. Sally's visions are to be taken seriously. I'm quite afraid I've learned this the hard way."

"How do you know she's right in the head presently, Jack? She's in an interesting condition, after all..." said the smaller witch. Her sister nodded in agreement.

"Wearing the bustle wrong addles your brain. That's a simple fact. We've been to the human world how many times, over how many centuries? She's in no position to question it!"

"She isn't questioning it, ladies. Sally has only advised changing the day, and minding your paths. I've said that last bit more than once, have I not? We can't afford to be predictable if we venture out when not protected by Halloween."

"Have we _ever_ been predictable to the likes of them, Jack?" The tall witch sister countered. "Anyway. Anyone can have an off dream and claim to know the future. Surely you don't think she's a seer? Those are few and far between as frog hairs."

"Very unlikely." the small witch added. "A black cat's whisker in a haystack."

"Push the trip back one week." Jack repeatedly firmly. His darkening tone closed the door on further debate. He ended their interaction with a gentlemanly nod of his skull, before showing himself out of the shop, The Mayor hurrying nervously behind him.

"Well, now what are we supposed to do?" The smaller witch asked in defeat.

"We go." Her sister responded, shrugging. "We go as planned. Jack heads back inside early these days, and we'll be home long before morning."

"You don't think anything will happen, do you?"

"Not a bit! We'll leave the cauldron on watch with Fishgal just in case, but we'd do that anyway. Finish making your list. We'll waste no more time dithering over this silliness."

So they did. A narrow escape from disaster followed.

Sally still wasn't entirely sure of the details. She awoke in the small hours of morning to the scream of the door bell, followed by Jack frantically dressing and flying out of the house in a blur. Now everyone was abuzz with the news. The Pumpkin Queen had warned Jack, he had warned the sisters. They went anyway. They were almost caught, and could have exposed the passages. The Pumpkin King himself had to sail in and assist their exit back to Halloweentown. Catastrophic - saved only by the "almosts" and the "nearlys". Sally threaded her needle. Her emotions were split between the sweet release of validation, and a prickly anger than someone else's actions could potentially endanger her child. She realized with some surprise that it was the first time she'd come close to such a thought. She turned it over in her brain as one would examine an unusual stone.

"How are you, dear?" Mrs. Corpse asked earnestly, stepping under the sewing tent canopy. "You're close to your time."

"I am. I feel strange, but it won't be much longer. Thank you for asking."

Mrs. Corpse nodded. She placed a small paper box on the corner of the sewing machine table.

"It's a sugar bun, dear. Make sure you're eating. A little monster will take it out of you either way. You need more than you'd think to keep your strength up. I know Jack takes good care of you, but he's up to his eye sockets today."

"Thank you." Sally said. She filled with genuine gratitude at the offering. "That's very kind of you, Mrs. Corpse. You didn't have to."

"I did indeed, dear. Anyway. Your gift...you know what I mean...it's most remarkable. We've never had the likes of it before in our town."

"I expect you'll be listened to in the future after all this.", a deep voice interrupted. The scaled Fishgal slid around the corner of the tent, joining their conversation.

Sally breathed a soft noise that might have been agreement. Her gift.


End file.
